Hate Crimes
by moms5thchild
Summary: Blind Justice NYPD Blue Crossover! Jim works a Halloween case that hits a little too close to home.
1. Chapter 1

**Hate Crimes**

**Chapter One**

Christmas was coming.

Sure, it wasn't Halloween yet, the leaves were still on the trees and you didn't need to button up your coat but Christmas was still coming. Jim Dunbar used to love Christmas, the colored lights on the houses, the tinsel covered trees, the brightly wrapped presents. That was before his 'accident'. Now it meant crowds shoving him around, snow hiding the landmarks he needed to navigate and the feeling of being outside looking in. Ha, there was the joke, looking in. Still, Christmas was coming. It was nipping at his heels; it was reminding him that he had to get started now if he was to get everything done and still be sane when December 25th rolled around.

* * *

"Okay," Lieutenant Fisk came into the squad room with a clip board in his hand, "time for our annual bitch and complain session. We have Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years breathing hot and heavy down our necks and we have to cover two shifts instead of one on those happy occasions. First, Halloween, I want at two of you here the night of the 31st, with the other two on call. Dunbar, since you are the newest inmate at the asylum and you don't have kids, you get to be here to watch out for all the witches and demons."

"Ah, does that mean I gotta stay here too." Karen Betancourt whined.

"Thanks, partner. Love to know where I sit in the scheme of things." Jim cut in.

"No, Karen, you were here last year," Fisk replied.

"So was I," Tom Selway said.

"Hey, I got a kid," Russo added.

"Says here, that your exe has him that weekend and you want to be free for Thanksgiving. I can still read your vacation requests, Marty." Fisk shuffled the papers on his clipboard, "says here you're taking Frankie to Disney World that week."

"Caught," Selway said and snapped his gum.

"What you coming to work as Marty," Jim asked sweetly. "I don't want our costumes to clash."

"Figured I'd come as a white cane so I'll look natural around you."

Jim sent a rubber band sailing towards Marty's voice and smiled when he heard yelp coming from the spot he aimed at.

"Dunbar, play nice." Fisk could barely hide the laughter in his voice.

"Two points, Jim." Tom said.

"Back to business, next holiday is Thanksgiving. Dunbar already requested that one too, so that leaves Karen and Tom. Jim, says here you'll be in Connecticut, with Russo in Florida I'll have to arrange some coverage with another Precinct. Tom, you ever work with Andy Sipowicz from the 15th."

"Yeah, I met him when Lieutenant Fancy was there. Why?"

"Andy just got promoted to squad chief and he owes me a favor so I'll arrange with him if you need backup."

"Sounds good to me."

"Next is the big one, Christmas. That's two in one cause we got Christmas Eve and Christmas day. It's just my luck not to have any Jewish detectives. Anyone ready to commit now or will I have to wait for that information." Fisk scanned his officers. Karen just shrugged while the men fiddled with rubber bands. There was a shooting war in the making and Gary just shook his head. Sometimes Dunbar was a pain in the ass, but he was always a surprise. "I want answers by the end of next week about the vacation list… and if I have to confiscate every rubber band in this office I'm going to send you all to Juvenile Division." He turned to go back into his office, shaking his head when a rubber band went sailing past his ear.

* * *

Jim and Hank entered the squad room at 3:30 p.m. on October 31st wearing business casual. Jim had a turtleneck sweater rather than a suit and tie, Hank was sporting a set of devil horns.

"Hankie," Karen bent down to remove the band from his head, "someone doesn't respect your dignity, does he?"

Jim paused in setting up his computer, "I thought it was cute."

"Yeah, bout as funny as a crutch," Karen took velvet horns, marched over to her partner and put them on Jim's head. "You're right, they are kinda cute."

Jim patted the horns, took off his glasses and waggled his eyebrows. Karen just laughed at this silliness.

"What are you doing tonight?" Jim asked as he slipped the horns off.

"I have a date," she said very primly. "Don't get too nosy. He's a pastry chef. I met him when I helped a friend plan her wedding and that's all the information you're getting."

"Cool, will you be bringing samples of his work here?"

"Only if you want to weigh about a ton, he's actually a really fantastic pastry chef."

"You're dating a pastry chef?" Marty's voice stopped the conversation. "Does he make 'sex in a pan'?"

"You are a creep, and for that, I hope your car gets soaped tonight."

"I hope that's all that happens tonight," Jim said.

"From your mouth to God's ear," Fisk said as he left his office. "Well, you two know the system; hope you don't have to use it. Karen, it's almost 4 o'clock, may I escort you to your car."

"It's nice to know someone here is a gentleman." Karen said as she took Fisk's arm and they left.

"Well, Jim," Marty turned to Dunbar, "looks like it's just the two of us. What now?"

"There's a Rangers game on the radio tonight."

"Sounds good to me," Marty replied as he started up his computer. "Hockey and paperwork and hopefully that's it for tonight."

* * *

The call came in at 9:32 pm, two bodies found behind a dumpster off Mosco Street. The uniforms already had the area taped off when Russo and Dunbar got there. Marty kept his arm stiff when he guided Jim to the murder scene, keeping his steps small and his movements hesitant.

"Marty, relax," Jim coached him, "it's easier if you just move naturally. Just tell me when we hit a curb."

"Yeah," Marty said, but he couldn't seem guide as naturally as Karen.

"Detectives, this way," a female officer lead them to the scene. "Two bodies, charred pretty badly. If you get close enough you can smell'em, but there doesn't seem to be any gasoline or any other ignition source on the bodies."

"So they were dumped." Marty left Jim and walked up to the bodies talking in a stream of conscious style to let Jim know what he was seeing. "They're pretty badly burnt, look young though. They appear to be clad in jeans, leather jackets, and athletic shoes but can't get any more specific than that."

"Anything unusual around them," Jim asked.

"Just garbage; fish heads and cabbage, the wet and disgusting kind of garbage that things don't burn in. Hold on, what is this?" Marty fumbled under the dumpster for something. "Now I got something unusual."

"What is it?"

Marty answered by handing Jim a bundle on aluminum tubes. Jim ran his hands over the burned surface, finding the nub of a handle strap at the top, the size variations and the remains of heavy elastic inside.

"I'd say that was a white cane." Marty voice stilled Jim's hands.

* * *

"There goes the meat wagon," Marty said as the coroner's van turned from Mosco Street, onto Mott and out of Chinatown. "I could sure go for a coffee before we head back to the station."

"Wo Hop's is just around the corner, a bowl of congee would taste real good right now."

"You're right, Dunbar." Marty tapped Jim's hand, signaling him to take his arm.

"Marty, relax." Jim shook Marty's arm, "Just walk naturally. You know Christie and I can jog like this so you don't have to worry about going too fast."

Marty didn't answer, but his arm loosened and his stride lengthened and Jim could move more naturally. Going south on Mott Street they got to Wo Hop's quickly and went downstairs to the smoky, crowded dining room tourists rarely saw. At the long, scarred table Marty pulled out his notebook while he and Jim waited for their food.

"Were the bodies' charcoal?" Jim asked.

"Their heads and torsos were. Looks like the perps wanted identification to be hard to do." Marty checked his notes. "No wallets, no id's, hands crushed and burned. We'll probably have to wait on the DNA and hope our vics were in the system."

"Wonder if they were blind?" Jim mused.

"Could be, or that cane coulda just been there."

Jim put his cane on the table top. "These things aren't collected like walking sticks. They're too expensive and too noticeable, hell; they're made to be seen. If you're waving one around and you're not blind someone would say something."

"Dunbar, its Halloween. Tonight you could be walking around with two heads and no one would say anything."

"You're probably right. This is not the night for the normal and sane." Jim stopped as a bowl of pork congee was placed in front of him. "Marty, where's the hot mustard?"

* * *

The DNA of the victims was not in the system, but it was determined they were Caucasian males between 15 and 25 years of age. Missing persons, juvenile crime, Center for Missing and Exploited Children were checked and nothing was found. After 48 hours there were still no leads and the case grew cold.

November 2nd was a miserable day. Rain pelted down making it nearly impossible for Jim to make it to work on his own. He would have tried, but Christie put her foot down and drove him to the precinct. Still, from the street to the door both Jim and Hank were soaked.

"Do you smell something funky?" Marty sniffed loudly.

"Wet dog" Tom asked.

"Wet Dunbar," Russo shot back.

"Very funny, Russo," Fisk said from his office, "Get used to it. Jim, don't take off your coat. I want both of you to head over to the 15th. Sipowicz is waiting for you."

"What is it?" Jim asked as he adjusted his computer bag on his shoulder.

"They've got a homicide sound like your Halloween case. A body, behind a dumpster, burned with gasoline."

"So, that makes it like our Halloween case." Marty said as he got his coat.

"Yeah," Fisk said, "seems this vic had a bi-lateral ocular amputation with prosthesis."

"What does that mean on a good day?"

"That means," Jim answered, "the vic had its eyes removed and replaced with artificial ones."


	2. Chapter 2

Hate Crimes

Chapter Two

The 15th Precinct building was old; sweat and mold seemed to ooze from the walls and radiate an aura of despair around everything inside. There was no functional elevator so Jim and Marty trudged up the stairs to the squad room.

"God, I hate these old precinct houses. Ya just gotta pray for urban renewal to catch up here."

Jim just nodded. The old building seemed clammy and the corridors were all too narrow to comfortably navigate. He ended up with Hank on his leash and his hand on Marty's arm following single file to keep from bumping into anything or anybody.

"Detective Dunbar," Jim heard a familiar voice to his left.

"John? John Irvin, is that you?"

"Yes, it's been ages. When I was at 1PP and you were just out of uniform."

"Sorry to end the reunion, lovebirds," Russo cut in, "we're here at the request of Sergeant Sipowicz."

"This way," John's voice went cold as he lead the pair to Sipowicz's office.

"Detectives Russo and Dunbar," Andy came out of his office to greet them. "Fisk has a lot to say about you."

"All good, no doubt," Marty cut in.

"Yeah, he said you were a loud mouth, Russo. And you, Dunbar, you ain't taking any risks on my dime."

"No more than any other day, Sergeant." Jim shot back.

"Russo, go compare notes with Jones and Clark. I want a minute with your pal here."  
Sipowicz tapped Jim's hand, indicating he wanted to guide him into his office. "You and me, we gotta talk."

"Anything you say, Sergeant," Jim said as he went into the office, sat and settled Hank at his feet.

"Dunbar," Andy cleared his throat, "everybody knows you got a pair of the biggest brass ones of anybody in the department. You also got a rep for being one smart cop. So, let's stick to playing detective while you're here."

"Was there any other thing on your mind? Cause I thought that was what Russo and I were here for?"

"Just laying it on the line, Dunbar. We've already lost 12 hours on this homicide and your case is the closest thing we got to a lead." Andy shifted round his desk, "I had these made up for you last night."

Jim felt a file folder drop into his hands. Opening it up, he found heavy paper covered with Braille. "I could have scanned this into my computer."

"What's done is done, get to work."

Jim rose and slapped his thigh, signaling Hank to get ready to guide him.

"Out the door, go forward 'bout five feet then turn three o'clock and you'll find your partner."

"You know someone blind, Sergeant."

"I don't live in a vacuum, Detective."

* * *

Notebooks, crime scene sketches and official reports from both murders were strewn across John Clark's desk. So far, the only things they had in common been someone were blind in one and might have been blind in the other.

John Clark was scribbling information down while he balanced the phone receiver on his shoulder.

"We've got an ID on our vic." He said as he hung up the phone. "According to the serial number on the glass eyes we have a George Stravros occupying space in the morgue. He was 19 and a student at City College. There's a counselor, Willa Pederson, willing to talk to us right now."

"How 'bout me and Dunbar head to the college while you find the family," Marty said.

"Like I like telling someone their kid's dead," John snarked.

"When we get ids on our vics we got to do it twice. You can do it, Junior."

"Marty," Jim shook his head, "you trying to be extra obnoxious today, or are we just lucky?"

"Just lucky, I guess. Get your coat, Dunbar, we gotta go."

Jim and Marty had barely got out the door when Russo sighed. "I have never been so glad to get outta somewhere as to get outta there."

"What's wrong with the 15th, Frank," Jim asked as he settled Hank in the car.

Russo hesitated. "That Sipowicz, he kept staring at us, like he expected fireworks or something. What did he say to you when he grilled ya in his office?"

"Not much. Just told me to do my job."

"Idiot," Russo growled as he eased the car into traffic, "like you were gonna do anything else."

* * *

"Gentlemen," Ms. Pederson escorted the detectives into her office, "please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee?"

"No, we're fine." Marty said as he took out his notebook. "We just need a few answers and we'll be out of your hair."

"Yes," Jim started, "did you know George Starvos personally?"

"Yes, I did. I handle all the special needs students in the pre-law program."

"So, are there a lot of special needs students this year?"

"No, there were only a few. We encourage these young people to make full use of the facilities we have here to make college life easier for them. I try to take a personal interest in each and every one of their aspirations while they attend City College."

"You only handle pre-law, Miss Pederson?" Marty asked.

"Pre-law, education and liberal arts. More and more disabled people are taking full advantage of the opportunities a higher education can give them. You yourself, Detective Dunbar, show that a disability does not necessarily mean life is over."

"Thank you, Miss Pederson," Jim answered, even though he wanted scream that he did not want to be anyone's role model.

"Yeah, we're all proud of Dunbar here," Marty chimed in. "Still, all your students don't make it. We're there any drop outs around the end of October."

"Actually, we did have a very promising young man leave after almost finishing pre-law without any explanation the end of October, Carl Willets. I was very disappointed, but young people get involved and he had become very close to Jeffrey Osborne. Mr. Osborne was in our social work program."

"Could we have their contact numbers," Marty continued. "So we can see if they might have known something about Stavros."

"I don't know if that would help. Both Osborne and Willets were in their practically finished their degrees and Stavros was a first year student. Just because George and Carl were blind does not mean they ran in the same circles."

"And Jeffrey Osborne was not handicapped. Yet he was with Carl Willets."

"Detective Russo, Carl and Jeffrey were partners."

* * *

Back at the 15th the detectives went over their notes.

"So, two blind guys in pre-law," Clark checked his notes. "We could have a pattern."

"Or we could just have a co-incidence," Jim added.

"Still, it is a place to start, unless your guy was gay, too." Marty added.

"Listen, yous," Sipowicz approached the men, "don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. Russo, Dunbar; you report here tomorrow, for now, get outta here."

John Irvin approached the group, "I'm heading to the subway. Care to join me, Jim?"

"Sure, Hank needs to stretch his legs. That okay with you, Marty?"

"Sure, whatever you want. See you here tomorrow." Russo said and left immediately.

"Do you think it was anything we said?" Baldwin Jones laughed. "You can barely see him for the dust."

"Neanderthal," Irvin shook his head. "Ready to go?"

John Irvin's straightforward directions made it simpler for Jim to memorize the route to the subway. It wasn't until they reached the station that John revealed that Andy Sipowicz had told him to do this and he didn't even know John and Jim had met before. The rest of the ride home Jim Dunbar tried to reconcile the public face of this gruff police sergeant with the obvious trouble Sipowicz was going through to make things easier for him. Jim wasn't sure he liked it, this special treatment, but it did make things go smoothly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Jim Dunbar entered the 15th Precinct squad room late. The pounding rain yesterday had stripped all the leaves off the trees, covering the sidewalks with an unstable carpet of uncollected compost. Add to that street trash and falling temperatures coating everything with ice to the mix and Jim had slipped and slid, but never fell down completely, thanks to Hank. To think he used to like winter.

"Dunbar," Marty called as he entered the squad room, "they got you a desk today. Did you kiss Sipowicz or something?"

"Russo, that is not a pretty picture," Clark said as he guided Jim to his temporary desk. "Coffee? John just made a fresh pot."

"Better make it a quick one, Jim. We've got to meet the Osbornes at 9 o'clock and the Willets right after." Marty sat on the corner of the desk and set Hank's water dish in front of Jim. "I collected this, this morning. So that's two outta three comfortable here."

"Quit complaining, Russo," Sipowicz voice cut through the conversation, "I could put you in the broom closet."

"Well, at least the closet would be empty, right, Irvin?"

"I suggest you watch your mouth." Andy growled as he dropped another folder in front of Jim. Again, it contained neatly Brailled copies of yesterday's reports. Jim didn't comment; he figured this was just the way Sipowicz worked.

The phone in front of Jones rang. He grabbed it and raised his hand to quiet the room around him.

"Uh huh, un huh, I got that." Baldwin covered the mouthpiece. "Another body, same MO." Jones turned his attention back to the phone. "Found behind Transfiguration Church on Mott."

"Back in our neighborhood," Russo said.

"Clark and Jones will cover this, you two head to the Osbornes. If we don't get DNA samples we can't identify those bodies. No arguments." Sipowicz turned back to his office.

"What a hard ass," bitched Marty.

As Jim ran his fingers over the papers in this morning's folder, he couldn't agree less.

* * *

Mr. Osborne took Marty up to his son's bedroom, hoping they could find a toothbrush or comb, something that would have Jeff's DNA. Jim sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Osborne, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, gently questioning her.

"Jeff and Carl were nice boys. They loved each other. I might have wished things were different, but you couldn't help but like Carl Willets." Jim heard her coffee cup tremble against the table. Carefully he reached across and found her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He didn't have a dog, like you do, said it was too much responsibility for him alone. I think Jeff would have convinced him to get one, though. I remember Jeff telling me it was the real thing, him and Carl."

"Did they ever talk about leaving town? I mean, sometimes things aren't easy for a young, gay couple."

"Detective," Jim could hear Mrs. Osborne smile, "my husband's older brother is gay and has lived with his partner for the past 35 years. We've never been anything but truthful to our children about this and when Jeff came out we supported him. Still, we all know it isn't easy to be different. I think that's why the boys knew they had a place here where they could crash when things got tough."

"Jenny, did you know about these?" Mr. Osborne came into the kitchen and placed a bundle on the table in front of Dunbar.

"Letters? Cy, I've never seen them before in my life!" She reached for them but Russo stopped her.

"Your husband has given them to us for the time being, Mrs. Osborne, as possible evidence in the case. We'll want to check them for fingerprints."

"Oh, yes, how silly of me, I see this all the time on television, about contaminating the evidence. You do what you think is best. Did you find everything you need?" Jenny Osborne's voice cracked as she spoke.

"I believe we have. We'll be heading to the Willets now, is there anything you might want to add before we go?" Marty could be tact itself, when he had to.

"Only that the Willets loved Jeffrey as much as we loved Carl." She added, "and I pray that they're still alive and somewhere warm rather than…"

"We understand, Mrs. Osborne, Mr. Osborne. We'll get back to you as soon as we can.  
Ready, Dunbar?" Marty opened the door for Jim.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Osborne." Jim reached for Hank's harness and left with for the next meeting.

"Jim, we got two toothbrushes, probably both vics, and a nice pile of hate mail to go to forensics."

"There's a lot of anti-gay sentiment out there." Jim said as he settled Hank into the back seat of the car.

"These aren't anti-gay, they're anti-blind."

* * *

Jerome Willets lead Jim and Marty to his son's room.

"This is a very tidy place." Marty admired the small room. "I wish my boy was this neat."

"Carl had to be," Mr. Willets replied. "When you are blind you have to know where everything is or you lose it. Right, Detective Dunbar? My boy didn't like losing his things or crashing into doors, so it was always neat. Good thing we're Dutch, we have that reputation, you know."

"When was Carl here last?" Jim asked.

"It was the 30th of October. He and Jeffrey were volunteering at the Trevor Helpline that night. They should have been back by 1 am. They never came home."

"Did you know if Carl had problems with hate mail or internet spam?"

"There was someone bothering him. Someone was being very evil; calling him names, said there was no place for him in this world."

"Because he was gay?"

"Because he was blind." Willets sat down on his son's bed. "My father used to tell me stories about when he was a boy in Amsterdam. The Nazi's came and rounded up the imperfect ones, the Jews, the homosexuals, the gypsies and the handicapped. He would talk about his brother, Carl. Carl was what the used to call a mongoloid and now call a Down's syndrome child. The Nazis took him right off the street. Uncle Carl had a job and didn't bother anybody but he wasn't perfect so he was eliminated. When my Carl was born, he was blind from the start. So many operations and none of them worked. I  
named him Carl so my Father would be happy, so my Uncle would be remembered. I didn't think my Carl would be grabbed off the street, too."

"We'll do our best for your son," Jim said to the grieving man.

"Just find him. If he is that poor soul you have, I want to bury him beside my father. He never knew where his brother lay; I want his grandson to lie beside him." Willets jumped up and grabbed Jim's hand. "You, be careful. I'll give you the letters my boy got. They're so evil, spreading those evil Nazi lies about imperfect people. Don't let them get you, Detective Dunbar."

"Detective Dunbar is pretty good at taking care of himself, Mr. Willets. Until we find this guy we'll make sure we keep careful track of him, too."

Jim kept quiet until they got into the car. "You're gonna take care of me?"

"Listen, Dunbar, we're partners for the time being and that means I got your back. Besides, Hank here is probably scarier than you and I put together."

Let's get back to the precinct… you can read those letters to me." Jim removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Not these ones, Jimbo. These are all in Braille."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sipowicz looked up from his desk to see four heads bent in concentration. Jones, Clark and Russo had pens and paper out scribbling madly as Dunbar ran his fingers over the letters that had been turned over by the Willets family. Fingers would jab the air, heads turn, facial expressions show frustration, surprise or annoyance over what was coming off the pages. These guys worked well together, even though Russo reminded Andy too much of himself in the bad old days. The 8th was a small precinct, basically one shift of detectives. He could use another well running pair of detectives here, where the action got down and dirty. Then he looked hard at Dunbar. This guy was a piece of work, all right. Good cop, bad risk… if there was a way to keep him off the streets, keep that mind working at break neck speed and yet safe. Wasn't gonna happen. That guy had street cop written all over him. Checking his file, Andy found the department had been begging Dunbar to take the exams, move up in the ranks and he always said no. Hell,  
look what it got him and he was still on the streets. Hard ass. Oh well, time to join the party.

"What have we got?" Andy said as he approached the men.

"We got one sick mother," Junior cut in. "Spitting out shit, saying Carl was taking the scholarships from people who really needed them and would use them."

"I take it we couldn't get prints off those," he pointed at the letters.

"Nothing but smudges and smears," Russo said. "So we figured we'd get it translated ASAP. As long as we got Dunbar here might as well use him."

"Well, Jim," Sipowicz turned his attention Dunbar, "What have we got?"

"No signature, of course, but the copy's pretty good. This guy either knows his Braille or he's getting it done for him." Jim ran his fingers lightly over the sheets. "This takes me a while, and it's not my first language. Our writer rants on about the disability pensions 'you cripples' get and they should be happy to live off the government tit. His words, not mine, and say things would be better 'if you cripples were put out of your misery.'"

"Definitely an asshole," Russo spat.

"Marty, I didn't know you cared," Jim shot back.

"In general I don't mind cripples; it's you I don't like."

Sipowicz just shook his head.

Russo spoke up, "we have to check out the applicants who, for whatever reason, didn't get into pre-law in the past three years, whatever the reason might have been. I'm betting it's more recent than that, but we gotta be careful."

"You're the boss, Marty. Here, read the notes yourself." Jim smirked and tossed the letter towards his partner.

"You guys are a regular Abbot and Costello," Andy said wearily as he entered his office.

* * *

Jim Dunbar phoned the college counseling office.

"Mrs. Pederson, would there be any possibility that the vacancies left open by Osborne, Willets and Stavros would be filled during the semester?"

"On, no, Detective Dunbar; not until the beginning of next semester would it even is considered… and only with students with the proper pre-requisites for the course."

"Are there any applicants waiting to get into these classes?"

"The second year is a closed class, no new entrants next semester. The first year had two persons waiting to take the spot Mr. Stavros passing has left; both have declined at this time. I'm sorry; I wish I could be more helpful."

"One other thing, could you fax a list of all the visually impaired students who have been in the pre-law classes in the last three years?"

"If you think it is necessary. I'll run it past the college attorneys and make sure we aren't violating anyone's right to privacy."

"This is a multiple homicide, Mrs. Pederson. I would imagine you would want to protect your students as much as possible. Please, send the information as soon as you can."

Jones walked up to Jim's desk. "We've got an ID on the vic behind Transfiguration Church. James Yip; seems he and his brother, Robert Yip, got into an altercation over a Xuan Hue, Suzanne Hue. She was the girl next door. Just a lover's triangle gone wrong, but Robert had seen the bodies of Osborne and Willets being removed and thought he would try to make it look like the same killer did his brother."

"Well, that still leaves three d. b's." Jim leaned back and chewed his lip.

"Oh no, Dunbar's thinking again," Russo called out.

"Has that fax come in yet?" Jim asked.

"Still waiting," Jones said.

"I'm taking Hank out for a walk. Be back in a few." Jim reached for the dog's harness and went left the squad room. Marty walked over to the windows and watched for Jim and Hank to appear, then followed them with his eyes while Hank did his business.

"You worried about your friend?" Jones asked Russo.

"Nyah, I just don't want him getting hurt on my watch. Besides, next time the might send some guy in a wheelchair. I just got used to 'Longstreet' I don't need no 'Ironside.'"

* * *

After the shift ended Jim could hear the frustration in Marty's voice as they headed out of the 15th.

"We have got to got to be looking at this the wrong way," Marty sounded near the end of his rope. "No matter how much I study this stuff I keep hitting the same conclusions."

"Maybe it's not what, but where," Jim replied.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why do you hate the 15th so damn much? The minute we got in there your hackles went way up. It's got to be more than the building."

Marty went quiet for a few minutes. "Did I ever tell you about my Dad?'

"No, never," Jim steeled himself for something he didn't think he wanted to hear.

"My Dad was a teacher. He was killed by a hit and run driver when I was 17 and all the work was outta the 15th. They never solved the case and I still want to kick the crap outta the guys here, but they aren't here now. So, I guess, I'm mad at the building." He laughed ruefully. "I bet you think I should see your shrink now, eh, Jim?"

"Nope, but I think we've gotta get outta there if we're gonna solve this case." Jim pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Christie, I'll be late for dinner tonight."

* * *

They were back at the 8th, back at their desks, they finally felt at home. Fisk didn't say anything when they walked in, just shook his head.

"What are you guys doing here?" Karen asked when she saw them enter.

"Needed to get out of that firetrap," Marty said as he sank into his desk chair and leaned back. "Now, here's my thinking spot. Now I just gotta wrap my brain round the problem."

"Like a pretzel?" Karen grinned at him.

"Karen, I swear it's like being under a microscope there. That Sipowicz always seems to be watching us." Marty sighed, "Frankly, you might be good, Dunbar, but you're not my partner. Where the hell is Selway, anyway?"

Jim tuned out the banter and pulled the case files from his brief case. Reading Braille was not easy for him, it took all his concentration to go through the pages delivered every morning. It might seem helpful, but it was easier for Jim to put printed pages in the scanner and listen to his computer spew them out. The guy at the15th was trying too hard and ended up making things awkward. Trying too hard….

"Marty," Jim spoke up.

"What? You got something?"

"We're trying too hard. Going too far back, covering too much territory. We have to go back the three victims. The connection is there. You got your case files?"

"Yeah."

"Give them to me. Maybe if I use my scanner I can relax enough to actually get into this."

"Make it loud enough for me and Karen to hear. Ya know, six ears are better than one."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When Andy Sipowicz arrived; the silence was almost deafening. Clark and Baldwin were hunched over Junior's desk going through stacks of files while Russo and Dunbar were huddled at Jim's borrowed one, both in headsets, going over another set of files. The easy banter was gone and tension between both pairs was palpable.

"What's going on here," Andy asked as he put today's folder of transcriptions in front of Dunbar.

"Last night Marty and I figured we were getting way off topic. These are hate crimes, we just are figuring out who is the target," Jim relied.

"I, for one," Baldwin put in, "think we have more than enough information to keep working on the pre-law angle."

"The possibility of co-incidence is still there. We have to fine tune this damn thing."

"So we've got someone with a vendetta against blind people, or just specific blind people or we got nothing at all." Andy put the question out to everyone but kept his eyes on Dunbar.

"Specific blind people… those at City College, taking pre-law," Clark answered.

"That doesn't explain why four other drop outs weren't touched." Marty cut Clark off.

"We are still waiting on the DNA testing from Willets and Osborne; that should be in late today." Russo added.

"Dunbar," Sipowicz said as he headed to his office, "you got ten minutes to pull this together and bring me up to date."

"Ten minutes! Jim, don't put up with that." Marty said as Andy's door shut.

"I can do it. Why don't you see if you can get those DNA results ASAP," Jim said as he gathered his notes together to report to the squad chief.

**

* * *

Jim entered Andy's office, took a seat and recapped the case findings so far.**

Andy carefully went through the personnel file he had forwarded to him while Jim spoke, chewing his lip in frustration at the time that seemed to be wasted doing this. Sipowicz looked up at the man in front of him. He'd been asked by the chief of detectives to give an independent evaluation of Jim Dunbar.

"Jim, have you ever considered taking the sergeant's test?"

That came out of nowhere, Jim thought.

"No, sir; I just want to do my job. I'm a cop."

"I know, but I have to be honest with you, the chief of d's wants you off the streets."

Jim stiffened, "and you?"

"Hell, I want you on my squad. You keep my guys on their toes, but you won't stay off the streets and I don't want you there anymore than Gary Fisk."

"Lieutenant Fisk doesn't want me on the streets?"

"Dunbar, nobody wants you on the streets, and its only part because of the eye thing."

"You can say blind."

"Okay, you're blind, but you do your job. If you get popped on my watch though I'll be at fault no matter what anybody says, same with Fisk, same with any squad leader. Not that it'd be different with anyone else just you got the media hype and all. Thing is you are not a desk cop… yet."

"Yet," Jim's eyebrows went up.

"Yet," Sipowicz leaned back in his chair. "Did you know I was a Nam vet, went straight from the army to the police; does this sound familiar."

"Yes it does," Jim replied stiffly as he noted the similarities to his own story.

"I would never have tied myself to this desk, except my priorities changed. What do you know about me?"

"Just what I hear on the streets," Jim started to relax.

"Well, I've got the prettiest wife in the world and three kinds under the age of ten. It's bad enough that I probably won't live long enough to see grandchildren but I ain't going leave Connie a widow sooner than I have to… so I sit at a desk."

"That's no guarantee you'll be here tomorrow." Jim knew he sounded nasty, but he couldn't stop himself. "The squad chief has been shot at the 15th before."

"Don't remind me, I was here. Let's just say I'm playing the odds. What about you? Don't you think the cards might be stacked against you? Just a bit?"

"Is that all you have to say," Jim rose to leave.

"Get outta here," Andy growled as he started to make notes for his report to the chief.

* * *

Jim was quiet after the scene with Sipowicz. He was wrapping his thoughts around what the man had to say. He had worked so damn hard to get where he was, had given up so much to stay where he was that Jim Dunbar did not want to lose one damn inch of the territory he had conquered.

"You're biting your lip again, Jim." Marty's voice cut into his thoughts. "Sipowicz say something that got to you."

"Marty, I just get tried of all this shit sometimes. I'm used to you dishing it out, but when someone who doesn't know me shovels on another layer it gets to me."

"You've been off your feed all week, Jim. It has got to be more than this exile to the 15th."

"It's this case, its winter, it's Christmas, and it's just that everything is … annoying on the whole."

"You are definitely not the ho ho ho type, are you?"

"Not lately."

Nothing moved for the rest of the day, no new leads; but no new deaths. The day was an entire bust and the atmosphere kept sinking into an ever heavier silence. Then the DNA report came back and Jeff Osborne and Carl Willets were now, officially, dead.

* * *

Jim's dreams were interesting things. Christie would always be Christie, Mom always Mom; the people he knew by sight were there for him to see. It was the ones he didn't know that slipped out of his unconscious in the movie version of life. Karen he pictured as a young Rita Moreno, like in 'West Side Story' and Tom kinda like Wesley Snipes. Marty still eluded him… sometimes he pictured him as any Italian beat cop Jim ever met, other times he was almost like a cartoon character, G. I. Joe with a badge. The victims were all faceless. It was better that way. Still, he knew what a burnt corpse looked like, he'd seen enough of them during the Gulf War and that horror slipped unbidden into his dreams that night.

Three young men, three pre-law students sitting in the first row of seats in a lecture hall, burned until they barely resembled human beings. Then there was a young man wearing old fashioned clothes, opened faced and smiling. Uncle Carl died before his name sake was born, but he sat beside him, linked in death by murder. Shadowy figures filled the other seats, victims Jim didn't know of crimes he couldn't imagine, all waiting for his help. He didn't know where to start. Jim Dunbar froze in front of these victims… and all the shadowy victims behind. He had to start somewhere… anywhere was better than standing still. So Jim turned to the black board behind him and started to write in large chalk letters.

A B C 1 2 3 A B C 1 2 3

"Jimmy," Christie was shaking his shoulder. "Jimmy, wake up."

"Huh… what," Jim mumbled as he dragged himself to wakefulness.

"Sweetheart, you were thrashing around and talking. Do you want to talk about it? It's not your old nightmare again, is it?"

"No, it's not." Jim reached for Christie and pulled her into his arms. "This case is getting to me. We should have something by now, but we're just spinning our wheels."

"Some cases don't get solved." Christie gently reached up and caressed her husband's cheek. "I know you don't want to hear that, but it happens."

"Not this one. This one is really important; these kids need justice so very, very much."

"Please, in the morning. There are better things to do in bed than police work." Jim could hear the smile in her voice.

"I think I'm going to be tired tomorrow," he smirked as he kissed his wife. "There is something that I think needs doing right now." He ran his hands delicately down his wife body, caressing, exploring, and sharing the love they worked so hard to keep. Afterwards, when they slept, limbs entwined and bodies relaxed, Jim's dreams came back calmer and new ideas came.

* * *

Jim entered the 15th squad room a little later than usual.

"Hey," Russo snarked, "I was about to send out a search party. Where you been?"

"Henry, Junior, I want to apologize for yesterday." Jim said as he made his way to his desk. "We got off on the wrong track."

"Well, that's understandable. You have to check all avenues." Baldwin tried to sound magnanimous.

"No, don't rest on your laurels; we have all got off on the wrong track." Jim captured the attention of the squad, even Sipowicz. "I have Joe Osborne, Jeff Osborne's uncle, coming in today. Marty, you remember what the Osbornes said about this man."

"Yeah, he was a happily married gay man who made it easy for Jeff because he was a role model. So What?"

"Well," Jim settled into his chair, "he is trying to set up an east coast branch of the Trevor Helpline."

"Yeah," Marty sat up, "I remember one of the parents mentioned that."

"What's the Trevor Helpline?" Andy's voice cut in.

"Quick explanation, it's a suicide prevention line directed specifically towards gay, lesbian, bi and questioning youth. It's in San Francisco but Joe Osborne wanted to set up a combination of that and the Lambda help line they have here. Combine the name, share publicity and make it easier to fundraise. Carl and Jeff were part of the college contacts he had recruited. When I spoke to him today he had volunteers from most of the colleges here on the list… including George Stavros."

"Finally," Clark shouted, "a real lead."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Joseph Gregory Osborne entered the squad room with the sharp, purposeful gait of a man with a mission. He didn't stop at John Irvin's desk to ask questions or scan the officers whose heads snapped round when he entered the room; but headed straight to Sipowicz's office. Joe Osborne had learned early on, if you want something done, you went straight to the top.

John Clark whistled and said "that looks like somebody who means business."

"Dunbar," Andy called from the office, "get in here."

"Who died and made you lead on this case?" Russo snickered as Jim gathered his notes.

"The Chief of D's, that's who, he wants me to fall flat on my ass."

It was a good thing Jim couldn't see the faces of Clark, Baldwin and Russo or he would have been embarrassed. All three men were showing annoyance and disgust that Dunbar was still someone the department wanted to get rid of.

"It ain't ever gonna end, it is?" Russo said to no one in particular.

* * *

"Is this supposed to be a joke," Osborne said as Jim entered the office.

"No," Sipowicz shot back at the irate man. "Mr. Osborne, this is Detective Jim Dunbar and you're damn lucky he's working this case. Jim, take the chair to your left."

Jim extended his hand and waited for Osborne to shake it. He wanted to gain some control of the interview and so Jim waited patiently until he felt the calloused grip of Joe Osborne in his. It was a small victory, but enough to take the upper hand and now he could sit down.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir. By all accounts your nephew was a good man."

"More than that, my nephew was a great man and I have no intention of letting him become some gay bashing statistic."

"We've been looking for the link that would keep these cases together. We never knew that young Mr. Stavros was a part of your organization."

"He was a _conflicted_ young man who had only recently found us. Carl and Jeff showed him that there was a place for him in this world. Young gay men from 'macho' traditional communities have difficulty being up to their feelings. Being Greek, gay and blind made it seem like both nature and nurture had let him down."

"How did he find out about your organization? Was it your nephew?"

"No, he actually found out through flyers we post on the college bulletin boards. Hell, we post the damn things everywhere. You know, we have to make sure we put up enough to cover those 'post no bills' signs on the construction sites and vacant buildings around town too. Someone must have read one to him and when George went to the college counselling office that bitch Pederson tried to steer him away from us."

Jim shifted his head slightly towards Osborne.

"Mrs. Pederson has been very helpful with our investigation."

"I imagine she would be, you being blind and all. She's got this thing about helping the lame to walk and the blind to see… no offence. She was fulfilling her Christian duty to help the helpless. I got to tell you, Carl Willets was far from helpless cause if he had been Jeff would never have fallen in love with him" Joe Osbornes voice caught.

"Listen, Mr. Osborne, you are going to be more help to this investigation if you can give us some concrete leads, or better yet, real evidence that we can take to the D. A. You can't let yourself be thrown off track because the victims were close to you. So far Pederson has been helpful and professional and you've flown off the handle with your accusations."

"Hey," Osborne jumped up, his voice filled with indignation, "I came here to help."

"And I'm sure you will, once you get hold of your emotions and logically help us build this case. Would you be willing to give a statement to Detectives Russo and Baldwin and we'll go on from there." Jim relaxed his stance and turned his face to where he believed Joe Osborne was sitting. "I want to close this case. Who ever killed these young men was the ultimate coward, seeking some of the most vulnerable of victims. That's my stake in this case."

Osborne nodded his head, but it was Andy who spoke. "I'll get Baldwin and Russo for you and we'll speak to you again before you leave."

Sipowicz got the ball rolling while Jim waited for him to finish and when he had everything Andy sat at his desk and looked hard at Dunbar.

"You ever thought about transferring to the 15th?"

"I thought you didn't want me," Jim smirked.

"The competition would be good for me. So, what you got up your sleeve, Houdini?"

The parameters of the investigation had changed; new information overlapped with the old ones and bled into unknown territory. There were new avenues to explore, the Trevor Helpline, Joe Osborne and Lisa Pederson had taken on an urgency they never before.

"According to INS files," Junior Clark began, "Lisa Pederson was born Elizabeth Barneveld in Chatham, Ontario, Canada. She married Joshua Pederson of Algonac, Michigan and moved to Algonac and then to Detroit and then New York. Pederson is a lay minister in a non-denominational church based loosely on the Christian Reform Church of the Netherlands. They have two sons, Matthew and Mark, and a daughter, Mary. By the way, the daughter is a mobility and orientation instructor for Lighthouse of New York."

"Why am I not surprised with that," Marty broke in.

"That doesn't prove a thing, Marty," Jim told his squad mate.

"But it's a lot more than we had before." Marty's voice was almost jubilant.

"Don't do anything half way here," Sipowicz instructed, "Who is gonna re-interview Pederson?"

"We got her coming down here after lunch," Jim replied, "with her daughter."

"John and I are going to track down the husband and sons. See if they didn't do anything under Momma's nose."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Baldwin intoned, "this is almost as convoluted as a Sam Spade novel."

"Excuse me," John Irvin called from his desk, "you have a visitor, Detective Dunbar."

"Who is it, John."

"Detective Dunbar," All eyes turned to the young man holding the white cane and being guided to their desks. "It's me, Peter Stecklie; I got your message and came right over."

* * *

Lisa and Mary Pederson sat nervously in interview one. It was obvious neither woman had ever been in a situation like this. Good, it helped when the subjects were a little off centre.

Jim entered and sat down at the table while Marty remained standing and took command of the situation.

"I want to thank you ladies for coming. Can I get you anything; coffee or a soda? No. Okay, let's get started." Marty looked closely at a clipboard filled with papers, "You both work with the handicapped. Kind of a family thing, I guess. Can I ask which came first, the guidance counsellor of the O and M instructor?"

Lisa Pederson smiled slightly, "that would be me. I became a member of the counselling staff at NYC first. I was in a few positions there before I found my fit with the handicapped advisory board."

"And I met the students Mom would bring home," Mary cut in, "and realized I was very comfortable being with them. Ultimately it came down to a choice between occupational therapy and orientation and mobility instruction… I chose O and M."

"Well, I got to admit, spending my life around a bunch of Dunbars would not be my idea of a good time; one is more than enough." Marty surreptitiously looked up from his clipboard to see the reaction his jibe got. That got their backs up; now for the next.

"But then, they were queer, too. I can't imagine what it's like goin to bat with two strikes already against you." Oh, Mommy definitely wasn't as upset about that little attack as her little girl was.

"So, do you both still go to church with Pastor Pederson?"

Mrs. Pederson eyes swung towards her daughter before she starts. "I am always there for my husband, as are my sons. Mary does not attend church."

"No, that's not true. I go to St. Albans's Episcopal with my fiancé, Richard Brownlee."

"Detective, this is an old argument and not part of your investigation, is it?"

"Nope," Marty said, "just trying to get to know you better. You see when we get past the first forty-eight hours without a solid lead, we have to back track, and re-examine and re-interview make sure we haven't missed anything. Doing it here, in precinct keeps everything tight. You can see why your co-operation is vital."

The women smiled complacently, doing their civic duty wasn't so bad. Marty smiled briefly as he leafed through the papers on his clipboard.

"I'm missing a few papers. Officer Dunbar would you mind not breaking the case without me," he said with a wink directed towards the Pedersons. "I'll be back in just

a few," and left the room.

"I must apologise for my partner, he's a little rough around the edges." Jim rose from his seat and stretched his neck. "He's Catholic, you know. He not as up on the Bible as he should be."

"Oh, I knew there had to be a reason for his ignorance. It is a pity that Catholic children are not exposed to the word of God on earth."

"Let me see if I can remember the verse," Jim tipped his head slightly to the one side. "Leviticus, I think, _"You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination."_ and something in first Corinthians too."

"Yes, and more," Lisa Pederson nodded. "I tried to help those poor souls too; but with the permissive society of today these ignorant souls are told it is a good option. Politically correct but morally reprehensible."

"What do you think, Mary?"

"I think that you are both from the Stone Age." Mary said as she twisted in her seat. "It's bad enough I get this at home… I don't need to get it here too."

"She's ready to follow the Lord when its makes you feel good. Feeding the hungry, clothing the naked; but when you must take up the sword for the Lord I'm afraid my daughter falls down."

"It is a good thing you have sons," Jim smiled.

"Yes, they are good boys," Lisa Pederson smiled back.

Marty came in at that moment. "Thanks for coming in. I think we have enough now."

"It's been a pleasure helping you," Lisa Pederson smiled.

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours."


	7. Chapter 7

Hate Crimes 07

"I want to start taking some accounting courses. You know kinda get my feet wet before I jump and take a business degree. After that, who knows… maybe even business law?"

Lisa Pederson looked over the grade transcripts of the young man in front of her. "I see you were originally studying for a contractor's license, Mr. Steckle."

"Yeah, but that was before the retinitis pigmentosa got so bad that I was declared legally blind." Pete smiled towards the woman's voice. "I can distinguish light from dark and sometimes I can see colors. Now I've finished independence training at Lighthouse and have a night job. Still, I want to do more that answer phones and dispatch cars for the rest of my life."

"Well, I'll see what we can set you up with, it shouldn't take long" Mrs. Pederson smiled as she opened a new file for Pete. "You're going to need a tour of the campus and all the buildings where you'll be studying. I can arrange that before the Christmas holiday if you would like."

"No, that's all right, my partner, John, will be helping me to get started; then I'm on my own."

"Yes," her voice came out a little tighter, "so, we can go on from there."

* * *

"So, now what," Sipowicz paced to the detective's desks. "We don't have forever, ya know." 

"It's not going to take forever," Jim replied. "It is only going to take one day, two at the most, depending on how we plan it."

"We figured," Baldwin cut in, "that it is not Mrs. Pederson or Pastor Pederson but the Pederson boys that are doing the deed."

"And what made you come up with that brilliant observation, Sherlock?" Sipowicz shot at Baldwin.

"Well, when we interviewed the Pederson males, we found one very calm and helpful minister and two very pissed off young men."

Clark shifted in his seat, "the sons blame their mother. They think she wasn't forceful enough getting them scholarships for college. Daddy tried to deflect their anger, but wasn't very successful."

"But," Andy said, "as a school employee she coulda got some kind of break for family, right?"

"In this age of cut backs and salary versus contract some of the usual frills are missing. Seems Mrs. P. could get basic tuition covered, but her sons needed more labs and extra curricular services and that was where NYC drew the line." John just shook his head. "I still don't get why these vics, though."

"That's obvious," Jim Dunbar said "they are sinful and they are needy. Sinful because they are gay and needy because they are blind; so I imagine that the Pederson boys believe they are saving their victims from a life of sin and misery."

"Still, why do you figure they are escalating now?"

Jonesjust shook his head. "Seems Mark Pederson tried the pre-law course with Carl Willets and couldn't keep up with the man. Thenhe repeated the same courseand the Stravos kid repeated the process… just more and more humiliation. Pederson mind just snapped. This was the answer he found to all of his problems. It must be very humbling to be less than someone he felt was so obviously beneath him. Good thing Willets was Dutch instead of some poor, black kid… probably wouldn't have made it as long as he did."

"Of course," Jim put in, "that might have been the breaking point. He is this smart, blue eyed Dutch kid who is so much like Mark is and yet so very, very different."

"How'd you know he was blond and blue eyed?" Marty asked sweetly, obviously jerking Jim's chain.

"Can it, Russo." Jim was exasperated. "I am gonna be so glad to get back to Karen. How does Tom put up with you?"

"It must be love," Sipowicz said as he headed for his office.

* * *

Russo and Baldwin were getting ready to head to the cube truck/observation post that would be sitting near the Student Union of New York College. Inside there was going to be a meeting of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance and Pete Steckle had told Mrs. Pederson he and his partner were going to be there. 

"See, I hold my cane like this," Pete demonstrated his technique to John Clark, "and don't shut your eyes. I can still see bright lights. My girlfriend says my head always turns to them."

"Okay, move cane left… move right foot forward… and turn my head toward bright lights… How the hell do you manage all this and get where you're going?"

"It's a skill," Pete smirked, "like walking and chewing gum at the same time."

Jim smiled; he could almost hear the blush in Pete's voice when he talked about his girl. He wasn't sure Pete would help when he asked but the young man jumped at the opportunity to assist Detective Dunbar. Pete was so damn confident and motivated and he laid this transformation right at Jim's feet. Jim really didn't think he did that much for the young man, but Pete sure did.

"Dunbar," Jim jumped as Sipowicz approached him, "we'll keep you plugged into the com link from here. Jimmy Posno wants to get outta uniform and he's more than happy to run errands while you're here."

Russo's head shot up, "Dunbar, you're not coming? This might be the big take down, you should be there."

"Not enough room in the van. Besides, John Irvin will be playing the partner to Junior's Pete. You don't need any more distractions. I'll know everything that's gonna go on there and, believe me, you'll get my input."

"Do you mind if I stay here too?" Pete hoped he could stay part of this now that he was involved.

"I got no problem with that if Sergeant Sipowicz doesn't have any. Do you, Andy?"

"Just stay outta the way."

"Can't go far without my cane, can I. Don't break it, Junior or you'll be buying me a graphite one."

Pete and Jim heard Junior grunt with pain as the sound of a moving man hitting immovable object made them both flinch.

"That's not a graphite cane, Pete." Jim whispered, "Its aluminum."

"Yeah, but I don't make a detective's salary, do I. I almost hope he breaks it, I could use a lighter cane."

All too soon the detectives were gone on the stake out, leaving Jim, Andy and Pete in the squad room. The com link relayed the chatter and gossip while the van traveled to the Student Union building. Jim just zoned out the useless noise. Officer Posno was more than happy keep track of conversation, take notes; hell, he even made a decent cup of coffee. Jim was listening to Andy Sipowicz talking to Pete Steckle. Andy was almost gentle with the young man, asking if Pete was learning Braille and life skills.

"Andy, was it a Nam vet? Jim asked out of the blue.

Andy turned to the blind detective, "no, just this kid where I grew up. Nobody paid much attention to him, but we had a common interest; The New York Mets, He would listen to the baseball games on the radio, knew all the stats and thought the world ended when they closed Ebbet's Field."

"Major Mets fan."

"Is there any other team? By that look on your face, you're a Yankees fan."

"Is there any other team? So, he was your friend?"

Andy huffed, "Jack is my friend. He's an accountant, does my taxes every year. When I told him you were coming here he decided to make those transcripts every night. He told me to tell you to keep kicking ass."

"Will do," Jim said, "and tell him thanks."

The com link crackled, "We're here. John and Junior are inside. Hey Jim, Clark plays blind real good, maybe Junior should try acting?"

"He just had a good teacher." Jim laughed. "So now, we wait."

"Yeah, so now we wait."

* * *

John Clark kept his hand on John Irvin's elbow, held the white cane awkwardly straight and close to his body and closed his eyes. He haddifficulty trusting John not to bump him into furniture, people or walls andhe fought had against opening his eyes. Joe Osborne was there, chatting and introducing him to people he would never remember five minutes from now. How the hell did people like Pete Steckle and Jim Dunbar manage to get through an hour, let alone the rest of their lives like this? 

"Junior," John's voice interrupted his thoughts, "there is a line of protestors outside the room. They're all standing very quietly, holding signs with Bible verses and the usual nastiness."

"Drift over there so I can peek, but be careful. I don't need to get made the anyone."

"Just don't act naturally," John smiled, "so far you're in character."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Slowly the men drifted toward the open doors of the meeting room. Seven men and women were standing silently outside; unsmiling and quiet; they gave the campus police no reason to remove them. Junior tried to keep his head tipped slightly downward and tilted toward noises that attracted his attention the way he had seen Dunbar occasionally do. Junior opened his eyes and scanned the protestors. One tall man stood out, Mark Pederson. The student id photo didn't project the sullen, defeated face that he now wore.

"I wonder how much longer we'll have to stay?" he said softly to John.

"Well, the meeting breaks up in about 15 minutes, then we're been invited to coffee with some of the organizers."

"Coffee sounds good. We'll see if we get followed by our little shadows out there."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 08

Marty's voice squawked over the com link. "Meeting's over and the place is empting out; looks like there were about eighty people there. Would that be a big meeting or a small one?"

"I have no idea," Jim answered, "I went to John Jay College; it's a whole different animal."

"Well," Baldwin Jones cut in, "we're just waiting to see the happy couple leave… and there they are! They seem to be heading to the Starbuck's across the street with a few of the other attendees. Andy, is Starbuck's coffee allowed in the expense account?"

"Charge it to the 8th Precinct; Russo stole enough of our coffee in the last three days."

"Hey, I resent that remark," Marty's voice broke in, "besides, it wasn't very good coffee."

"Once they're inside," Sipowicz said, "call John on his cell phone and tell him to activate his and Junior's wire. That way you can listen to them and we won't have to listen to you're complaining."

"Did you get the GPS activated in time?" Jim asked Jones.

"It's in the cane, and Junior is afraid to let it go for fear of having to buy Pete a new one."

* * *

John sat at the table sipping his Caramel Macchiato and gently touching Junior in friendly ways.

"You just love this, don't you," Clark squirmed as he tilted his head toward John.

"Anything for justice, hold on while I answer the phone."

Clark listened to this side of the conversation and knew it was time to check his wire and GPS system. He heard the door open and glanced up over the sunglasses that hid his perfectly working eyes. In walked Matthew and Mark Pederson. Then he leaned close to John and whispered in his ear, "They're here."

John flipped his phone shut and touched Junior's cheek and whispered, "Russo says he's coming in and don't make a move until he's in place."

"Just the type of sweet nothings I love to hear." Clark smiled.

"I bet you say that to all your dates." John laughed.

"Can't you two faggots take that outside?" Russo voice stopped the laughter dead. "Ya can't go anywhere in this damn town without being treated to this kinda crap. I'm glad I don't have my kids with me, they might think this kinda sick shit is okay."

The manager was right there trying to calm Russo. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Oh, I'm going," Russo continued his rant. "I have to get out of here before I get sick to my stomach." Marty turned to the door and swung his foot wide to tip Clark's chair… and Clark… down on the floor. "Oops, sorry Petunia," he sneered as he headed to the door.

Immediately the Pederson boys were at John and Junior's side.

"Can we help you? That man was an animal, we can call the cops if you want, swear out a warrant." Mark tried to help Junior up, but John managed to brush him aside and assist Clark to his feet. Clark did his best to keep his face away from the man he had interviewed only yesterday.

"No, no," John said as he put the white cane in Clark's hand. "Its nothing we haven't faced before. We can handle this."

"Well, let us at least give you a ride home?" Matthew offered sincerely, "my van is parked just across the street."

"We're going all the way to Ocean Parkway and Avenue J." Clark said, "It's probably out of your way."

"No, we live in Brooklyn, near Coney Island Avenue and Avenue J. It won't be any trouble at all."

Clark rolled his shoulders in pain and John said, "thank you. We really appreciate this."

"It's the least we can do, so let's get you outta here," Mark Pederson helped guide Junior and all four men headed to the door. Russo was standing right outside; waiting for them.

"I see you girls got an escort," he sneered. "We coulda had some fun." He trailed the men to a van parked on across 17th Street from the Starbucks, snarling crude and hateful words at them until the van drove away.

"Baldwin, do you read me," Marty spoke quietly into his mike.

"Loud and clear."

"They left in a late model blue, Chevy panel van, ABC Automotive, Far Rockaway painted on the side; New York plates Zebra Alpha 2729. They seem to be heading to the Manhattan Bridge. Irvin and Clark are inside as passengers."

"We copy; a prowl car is already on their tail. Hey Marty, do you kiss your wife with that mouth. Whoa, that was some nasty shit you were spouting."

"Don't worry; I'll wash it out with soap before I go home tonight."

* * *

Jim called to the squad car, "Nash, do you still have the van is sight?"

"Affirmative," the patrol man's voice crackled over the speakers, "these guys are not heading to Ocean Parkway. I'd say they were heading to the Brooklyn Queen's Expressway and maybe the Verrazano Bridge."

"Did you get that, Baldwin?" Sipowicz relayed to the observation van.

"Yeah, we're about six car lengths behind and pulling up fast."

"Don't get any closer than three car lengths," Dunbar cut in. "We can't be have them id-ing your ride."

"Traffic's getting hinky," Russo said, "I don't want to lose them completely."

* * *

"We really want to thank you for the ride," John said, tipping his head toward the front of the van.

"Our pleasure," Mark smiled, "do you mind if I put in some music?" Not waiting for a reply he slipped a CD of Gospelrock into the stereo and raised the volume up high."

"John, I don't know where we're heading, but I want you out of this truck."

"Out? Here?" John tried to hide his surprise.

"Yeah, I don't want you in the line of fire if I have to draw my gun. Understand."

"Yes," Irvin answered nervously.

The van moved east on the Belt Parkway thenturned south at Flatbush Avenue. As it stopped for a red light Junior pushed John towards the door.

"Now, John. Now! Now! Now!"

John wrenched the door open and almost fell beneath the wheels of the van, but managed to right himself and run without looking back.

Matthew jumped into the back and grabbed Junior. "Looks like your sweetheart's as yellow as piss, too bad for you, he left you behind for us to play with."

* * *

"Irvin's out of the truck," Marty shouted.

"Leave him," Andy relayed to the men. "We'll get a car to pick him up. Don't lose that van."

* * *

"You know what you are," Matthew grabbed Clark by the shoulders. "You are an unnatural thing." He pushed Junior into the back of the van, pounded his head into the floorboards. Clark curled into himself, trying to protect his face and his façade and wondering how long either would escape detection.

* * *

"Get rid of the patrol cars," Jim ordered, "we can't afford to spook them now."

"Nash, pull back," Andy directed, "Is there an unmarked following."

"Duquesne here," came out of the intercom. "I can pick them up at the toll booth at Marine Parkway."

"Do it!"

* * *

"You can change," Matthew let go of Clark. "You can renounce the evils of the flesh. Accept Jesus as your personal Saviour and He will cure you of your homosexuality. Believe enough and he may also drop the scales from your eyes and you will see."

"It's too late," Mark's voice came from the front of the van. "If God was gonna work miracles for that faggot, he'd never have gotten into the truck."

"It's never too late," Matthew argued, almost in tears, "God can work miracles for you, Mark and for this wretch. Pray God remove the thorn from your flesh."

Clark shivered, thinking, 'I believe I'm gonna die.'

* * *

"Those guys are imploding. I don't know how much longer we can wait and keep Clark safe?" Sipowicz turned to Dunbar, "Here's your chance, make a command decision."

"They can't do anything until they get off the bridge," Jim chewed his lip and then thought out loud "If they turn to Beach Channel Drive we can be pretty sure they are heading out to the ocean. The business on the truck, ABC Automotive is in Far Rockaway. I bet that's where they're heading. We'll wait and listen to what's happening. Baldwin, Marty, if they stop anywhere other than ABC, stop them immediately otherwise monitor a bit longer."

"You got it, Boss."


	9. Chapter 9

This is the last chapter. A big thank you to everyone who has stuck through to the end.

Chapter 09

"How many cars have we got in play now?" Jim demanded.

Marty's voice filled the room, "our truck and Duquesne behind them and two unmarked cars ready to join us."

"Are they from the 100th; if not, can they come up with backup and a bus if we need it?"

"They're in and we can converge at ABC Automotive"

"No sirens, no heroics," Jim paced between the desks, "let's bring this in easy."

"Yeah," Marty answered laconically, "we don't need anyone getting shot in the head,"

Jim had the good grace to snort out a hard little laugh. He was frustrated. He kept trying to picture ABC Automotive in his head. Just and old service station with the pumps removed but Jim couldn't work up an image of the place as a whole. Angry he turned too quickly and ran into Junior Clark's desk, causing the things on it to crash to the floor. Reaching down in an attempt to put them back his hand encountered a square tissue box. Jim turned it round in his hands and realized it could help him imagine the scene in Far Rockaway.

"Marty, Baldwin, are you in place?"

"We're parked about three car lengths away." Baldwin answered.

"How many service bay doors in front," Jim asked as he set the box down on the desk and felt its front.

"Two double doors in front."

"Is there office space or store front?"

"To the right of the bay doors," Jim's hand slide slightly to the right. "Hold on, one of those bastards just walked into the office from the service bay, okay; just getting something from behind the counter. Suspect just went back into the work area."

Jim continued firing off questions, demanding accurate information. Where were the exit doors? How many windows were there and how high off the ground were they?"

Was there an alley behind the building or a vacant lot with a jumble of wrecked cars? Where did the electricity enter the building? With each answer his hands mapped it out on the tissue box. Jim was truly seeing with his fingers and Andycould see and understand how Dunbar saw ittoo.

* * *

The brothers shoved Junior out of the truck, took the white cane from his hands and smashed it against the wall. They didn't bother searching him; they didn't expect him to be carrying anything that could be dangerous. Wrong.

Matthew Pederson started praying over Clark, each amen punctuated with a kick in the ribs. It seemed as if the trusting in God didn't stop the man from having a little fun with the sinner. After Mark Pederson returned from the office, beer in hand, he just leaned back and enjoyed the show.

* * *

"We're in place," Marty's voice came over the wire. "Junior's getting a shit kicking. We have to go in now."

Jim added, "throw in smoke bombs if you have to… tear gas is too damn flammable; the place would go up like a bottle rocket. Whenever you're ready, do it."

"Oh, ya trust me, boss, I'm honoured," crackled over the intercom "--- on my count, three; two; one… now."

* * *

Matthew Pederson was ranting… "Lift up your head and plead to God. Ask 'Domine ut videam' Lord, that I may see!"

Okay, back up was outside… now was the time to act. This time, Clark'd really be acting.

"Wait, I see light," Junior called as he fumbled up off his knees, pulled off the dark glasses and reached back for his service revolver, "coming in now."

The doors smashed in as Mark Pederson yelled, "Damn it Matt; its that cop from yesterday."

* * *

Inside the precinct house, the noise of breaking doors, raised voices and scuffling came through the intercom like an old time radio show. In the end no smoke bombs were set off; no shots were fired.

"We got 'em," Baldwin's voice came over the wire.

"Yeah, you can add assaulting a police officer to kidnapping and attempted murder," Junior added. "That slimy bastard wears cowboy boots." Jim and Andy cringed and tried tofigure outhow many times Clark had been kicked by those pointy toed torture devices.

"Bring'em in, I'll phone the 100th right now," Andy said as he turned to his office.

"Wow! That was better trying to follow a TV show!" Both Jim and Andy swung their heads towards young Pete Steckle. They had forgotten the young man was even there. "And that graphite cane gonna cost about $35.00."

"I'll take it out of petty cash," Sipowicz said as he closed his office door.

* * *

In the end, it was almost anti-climatic. Junior Clark, Baldwin Jones and Marty Russo processed the Pederson brothers at the 100th Precinct in Far Rockaway. Matthew Pederson boasted of his crimes with the fiery gleam of a prophet, or perhaps a madman, in his eyes. Mark Pederson simply lawyered up. The owner of ABC Automotive was never contacted; the man was a member of Pastor Pederson's church and in a hospice dying of lung cancer. The pastor's sons knew shop had been closed for two months and how to get in to carry out their plans. Pastor and Mrs. Pederson made their way to the 100th Precinct but never got to see their sons until the arraignment the following day. Mark and Matthew pled not guilty and were remanded over for trail without possibility of bail. As for the whys of these senseless killings there were many opinions but only Mark and Matthew Pederson truly knew why and they both remained silent on that.

The next morning Marty and Jim walked into the 15th Precinct to finish up the paperwork and collect their stuff before heading back to the 88th. As they walked up the stairs they could hear Baldwin Jones laughing at Junior Clark.

"I am not gay," Clark spit out.

"It sure sounded gay from the van," Jones replied,

"And it sure looked gay at the Starbuck's," Marty cut in as he and Jim entered the squad.

"You asshole," Clark turned on Russo, "I got a bruise on my back because you dumped on the floor at that Starbuck's"

"Maybe you can get John to kiss it better?" Marty laughed and Irwin shook his head muttering 'Neanderthal' under his breath.

"And where the hell do I buy a graphite white cane?" Clark groused.

"Try Lighthouse on East 59th Street," Dunbar said as he started packing up the things he'd brought for Hank, "that's where I got mine."

"Yeah, I shoulda asked you first, I guess I just forgot you were blind for a minute."

Jim smiled; this was what he wanted everyone to do, just for minute, forget he was blind.

"Dunbar," Andy called from his office, "get in here."

"I'll take Hank's stuff down to the car and be right back." Marty said.

"I can find my way to the car," Jim replied.

"I know, I just want to hear that Sipowicz says before I start driving." Marty was worried; he still didn't trust the gruff squad leader, but he didn't want to let on he felt that way. "Hey, Junior, why don't you get your boyfriend to make up another pot of coffee for the rest of us?"

"I AM NOT GAY!" Jim heard Clark shout at Russo before the door to Sipowicz office closed.

"Sit down Dunbar; I got something to read to you." Andy's voice betrayed nothing of what he was about to say.

Jim stood. The little control game he had started to play at the 15th wasn't over yet. Andy waited a few seconds before he spoke again.

"Detective Dunbar, would you please put your ass in that chair."

"Of course, Sergeant Sipowicz," Jim said smoothly as he sat opposite Andy.

Andy sighed. "That was quite the show last night. That Steckle kid is probably gonna be talking about it for years. Course, I might too. I wrote up my report for the chief of d's and I'm letting you know what it says, so here goes." Jim went still as he heard the shuffle of paper. "First is the usual blah blah blah the brass wants to hear and next is this. As per your question of safety, after observing Detective Dunbar working in an unfamiliar environment I found that he adequately adapted to his surroundings and posed neither a threat to himself or anyone else. During the telephone interviews and interaction with other members of this squad Detective Dunbar showed initiative yet was able to work well within these tasks. Detective Dunbar went into the field when it was logical and appropriate yet knew how to work within his limitations and stayed in the squad room when the situation warranted. During the take down proceedings Detective Dunbar was able to work in the command centre and direct operations with assurance and allow the field officers the latitude to use their initiative when necessary. I believe Detective James Dunbar is an asset to his precinct and the New York Police Department and if he ever wishes to transfer to the 15th Precinct I would be ready to make all possible accommodations to keep him here. However, I feel he is wasted in his present position and feel Detective Dunbar should be encouraged to rise within the New York Police Department to whatever level he wishes. I will therefore be suggesting to the Detective he sit for the Sergeants exam within the next six months and the Lieutenants exam within the next two years. Sincerely blah blah blah."

Jim was speechless for a few moments and then he simply said, "Wow."

"You know this will probably be circular filed by the Chief of D's, so I'm sending a copy to Gary Fisk, Jim Deakins and the Commissioner. You'd probably do well in MCS; I'd love to see you working with Bobby Goren or Mike Logan. It would be really scary."

"I don't know what to say, thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it, now, get outta here and take Russo with you." Andy watched as Dunbar rose and reached for the door, "also, a suggestion; this year volunteer to work Christmas Day; give Fisk one less thing to worry about."

"Yeah, I probably will." Jim extended his right hand, "it's been a pleasure working here."

Andy grasped Jim's hand tight. "Come back anytime. Bring the dog, leave Russo behind."

Andy watched Dunbar and Russo leave the squad, smiling slightly as he shook his head. Still, he had his own squad to worry about and he had to stick someone here with Christmas Day duty. "God," he whispered to himself, "I hope Fisk appreciates what I just did for him."

Fin

I want to personally thank _Kenina._ Whenever I forgot ow to file these chapters properly she had the answers and her encouragement meant a lot to me.

Also _Hershinator_, you reviews were much looked for and appreciated. I hope I answered each question you asked me. You kept me on my toes and helped me remember not everyone watches as much television as I do.

And everyone who review my story. You all gave me the impetus to continue and I hope you were not disappointed.


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